Читать книгу PROTECTED - Marcus Calvert - Страница 3

Father Theo Willard Tolson popped a lemon cough drop as he waited in the bank’s long, Friday evening line. At forty-nine, he was tall and broad-shouldered, with an honest, friendly face that made him look more like a farmer than a holy man. His black shoes, black cotton slacks, and red turtleneck sweater complemented his buttoned-down blue coat. His grayish-brown hair was jumbled, a consequence of passing through the strong Baltimore winds. Bothered more by his sinuses than by how his hair looked, Tolson stood with a stoic patience gained from eight years as a teacher at Cristo Rey Jesuit High School. He gently pressed his thick brown glasses closer to his blue eyes and took in his surroundings.

The two-story building was over a century old and had recently been remodeled. Its circular shape, cream-colored walls and gray marble floors gave it a quiet dignity. It even had an old-fashioned circular vault door at the far end of the bank. While currently closed, Tolson guessed that the door was probably four or five feet thick. Always home to a bank, the building had changed hands more than a dozen times since it first opened.

Only a year ago, it was a Bank of America branch. Now, it was an 8^th National Bank & Trust. While Father Tolson never heard of them, their low introductory rates and quality service made them something of a local favorite. They impressed some of the Cristo Rey staff so much that the school opened multiple accounts. This was Tolson’s first time here and it was his last errand of the day.

Once he was out of here, the padre had every intention of taking some cold medicine before passing out in his warm bed. Grading three classes’ worth of midterms, performing two masses, and running multiple errands for the Alumni Committee had left Tolson dead-tired. Tomorrow’s schedule would be just as unforgiving. Bored with the slow-moving line, he began to size up everyone in the bank, one-by-one.

Tolson had developed this ability over two decades as a priest and language instructor. He had taught Latin, French, and Spanish in different schools around the world. His talent for sizing up classes allowed him to ferret out the troublemakers early on. Then he’d try to convince them it was better to work than goof off. With a quick glance, he could tell who was doing what and why with an eerie degree of accuracy. Whenever Father Tolson had to wait in public places, he loved to practice making intuitive assessments.

After a few minutes of observation, he noticed that two of the five bank tellers present were dating each other. The “goo-goo” eyes they occasionally slipped one another implied that the relationship was new, fiery, and secret. The male handled transactions like a seasoned pro, with expensive tastes in clothing that clashed with his mediocre appearance and thinning black hair.

But his lady counterpart – a twentysomething blonde with lovely curves – wasn’t quite so quick with her customers. Father Tolson pegged her as a new hire. The wedding band on the man’s finger was probably why they were dating on the sly. The three remaining tellers struck him as veterans who didn’t give him any interesting clues about their lives.

Tolson’s eyes strayed over to the large, uniformed guard at the door.

A black male in his apparent early thirties, he was easily 6’3” with the build of a steroid user. Tolson had never seen a rent-a-cop in such good shape. A blue-and-black uniform barely fit his well-muscled frame. In Tolson’s experience, the average guard was supplied by a mediocre security firm and paid very little money to work long hours with worse benefits. Most of them weren’t young or fit.

This one lacked the bored expression of a stationary bank guard. This one looked around with a dead-serious intensity, as if he was a Secret Service agent or something. Tolson tried to size him up. Ex-military, perhaps? Or a new hire who hadn’t yet realized how boring his job was? The priest couldn’t tell. Father Tolson, however, could sense something wrong about the guard … something that worried him.

The man had no shadow.

On a bright, October evening, the guard stood in full daylight and cast absolutely no shadow whatsoever! A pregnant woman entered past him and gave off a full-bellied shadow, as did the two customers who followed her in. The guard met Tolson’s gaze and the priest discreetly averted his eyes. Then, the Jesuit turned his head back toward the bank tellers. No shadows from them either! He eyed the people in line behind him. Their shadows were just fine.

Tolson sighed, took a mental step back, and wondered if he was just seeing things. He hoped that it was his tired eyes or a side-effect of his sinus infection. As the line moved forward, he moved with it. When it stopped, he stopped. The Jesuit closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he re-opened them and looked around.

Nothing had changed. He saw what he saw before. But this time, Tolson noticed something new. A young woman, who just cashed her check, headed for the door. As she left, Tolson’s eyes ran over her. Before she conducted her transaction, she had a shadow. Now she lacked one. Otherwise, her expression and movements were perfectly normal.

An absurd theory formed in his mind. What if the bank tellers were stealing people’s shadows, under the guise of regular bank transactions? But what value would someone’s shadow have? Two people were in line ahead of him. Tolson decided to escape this bank and never come back. He began to exit the line, only to realize that he couldn’t move!

It was as if someone else had taken over his body and brushed his will aside. Of its own accord, Tolson’s head turned back toward the huge guard – who simply grinned his way. The shadowless guard wagged his right index finger from side-to-side as if to say “naughty-naughty.” There was one customer in line ahead of him. Like a helpless puppet, Father Tolson pulled out a white envelope full of alumni checks. He then pulled a deposit slip from his left trouser pocket, while fighting to scream at the poor souls behind him to run for their lives.

“I can take you over here,” the new girl called out cheerfully.

Tolson walked over to her, very much against his will. He would’ve glared at her but the guard wouldn’t let him. The priest was forced to stare blankly ahead as he wondered what would happen to him. Would he just lose his shadow to this bank? Or his mind? Or his soul? The possibilities chilled the priest as he handed the paperwork over. His keen eyes noted a brief flash of malevolence in her gaze as the teller processed the transaction. Within his seized mind, the Jesuit prayed his last prayer: that the souls of these poor victims would find peace and that these demonic vermin would somehow suffer God’s wrath.

The teller processed his transaction and started to hand Tolson the receipt.

In unison, all of the bank cameras suddenly exploded into a shower of sparks and harmless debris. The female teller flinched as she sensed a divine presence nearby. Suddenly, her body seized up and split right down the middle. To the mortal eye, it simply looked as if the teller had been cut by an invisible guillotine. The bank patrons naturally gasped, screamed and/or gawked in horrid fascination as the blonde corpse fell to the floor in two halves.

Unable to move, Father Tolson stood like a statue.

Pesmarek glanced over at his short sword, which was now stained with the demon’s purplish ichor. Short and barrel-chested, the angel’s round, angry face looked to be in its early twenties, except for his gray eyes; they had lost their innocence after many eons of service. Floating over his curly brown locks was a gleaming silver halo (which denoted his warrior rank). Large, brown wings emerged through slits cut in the back of his matching duster and ran down to his shins. Like a gunslinger, Pesmarek flicked his duster open with his left hand to reveal polished silvery chest armor underneath. His baggy, gray pants were tucked into thick black metal boots. While he was invisible to most, the demons could see him just fine - as could Father Tolson (one of the perks of being an ordained priest).

The warrior angel regarded Father Tolson, the source of the disturbing prayer that had just reached the Heavenly Planes. Billions of prayers were screened and filtered for a certain number of topics each day. Some prayers for aid – especially against real demonic threats – were always answered. God didn’t like demons roaming freely upon his world or possessing his priests. This particular breed of shadow demon – known as the Dentraag – had hidden itself too well. Somehow, they had managed to trick mortal customers into selling their souls via bank transactions.

The adulterous male teller rushed at Pesmarek with an inhuman wail of rage. Pesmarek beheaded him with one neat swipe of his blade. Then, he glanced over at Tolson and waved free hand toward him. The priest blinked rapidly, freed from the guard’s hold. Tolson turned to tell the other customers to run. Half of them had already fled through the door. But then he noticed the guard’s vacant stool and looked around for the bastard. The guard had hopped over the teller counter with unnatural ease and rushed to blindside the angel. Pesmarek didn’t notice the guard as he gutted a third bank teller.

“Behind you!” Tolson yelled.

The guard roared as he leaped at Pesmarek’s back. Faster than a mortal blink, the angel spun around. His left hand closed on the guard’s neck as he snatched him in mid-leap. With a scowl, the angel pivoted to the right and then side slammed him through a short metal cabinet. Then Pesmarek then drove his sword through the possessed shell’s stomach with his right hand. He twisted the blade and was rewarded with a pitiful death shriek from the Dentraag inside. Crimson and purplish blood flowed as Pesmarek pinned the guard to the floor, until he died.

Pesmarek ripped his short sword free. Then the angel hoisted the corpse and turned visible as he rose to his full height. The bank went silent as the remaining patrons simply stared at the honest-to-God angel who stood before them.

“If you’re a regular human,” he announced in a strong, deep voice. “I’d suggest you run for the nearest exit … right now.”

To emphasize his point, Pesmarek flung the dead guard’s corpse across the bank like it weighed next to nothing. The body smashed into a far wall, some thirty-five yards away. Six seconds later, Father Tolson was the only human left in the bank. While he moved closer to the door (in case he needed to run) the Jesuit eyed the carnage with open-mouthed awe.

Pesmarek stared down the fifteen possessed shells - a mix of customers and bank staff - which also stayed behind. Suddenly, they all fell over, lifeless. The Dentraag rose from their host bodies. True shadow spawn, their featureless black forms solidified and willed assorted melee weapons into being. Each Dentraag was coal-skinned with a veil of thorny black bones across their featureless faces. Curved, nine-inch horns formed a V shape atop their narrow skulls. Their leathery black wings spread out as they gave him a fearsome group roar.

“You might want to leave, Father,” Pesmarek urged as he walked through the teller counter and stood next to the priest. “This will get messy.”

While he was scared to death, the Jesuit slowly shook his head.

“I’m watching a straight-up fight between Good and Evil,” Tolson replied. “There’s no way I’m missing –”

Tolson was interrupted by a foursome of violent and very loud sneezes, which echoed through the bank. The priest embarrassingly sniffed. The Dentraag swapped glances. Pesmarek eyed the priest with concern.

“Sinuses,” Pesmarek said as he reached into his coat for some tissues. “Just … smite these things in His name, willya’?”

“With pleasure.”

The angel gave the Dentraag a menacing smile and then stepped forward to deliver God’s wrath. As began to move, the groaning sound of metal echoed through the bank. Pesmarek paused as the vault door began to slowly open of its own accord. A dozen more demons rushed out. They linked up with their kindred, formed a U-shaped battle line, and slowly advanced toward Pesmarek.

“So the gate to your world’s through that vault door, eh?” Pesmarek guessed aloud.

The biggest Dentraag in the group stepped up with a thick black fighting spear clutched in his taloned hands. Tolson looked over the eight-foot-tall monster and pegged it as the leader. For whimsical moment, the priest wondered if it doubled as the bank manager.

“We’ll be happy to give you and your pet priest a guided tour of our home,” the demon scowled with a raspy, inhuman voice. “Of course, the trip will be one-way.”

The huge Dentraag advanced. His twenty-six minions followed. Pesmarek raised his left index finger for a moment and calmly signaled them to hold up a second. The demons warily paused. With a grin, Pesmarek walked past Tolson and switched the bank’s two-sided OPEN/CLOSED sign from OPEN to CLOSED. He then willed his wings to withdraw within his body, lest they take damage from the impending fight.

“Now, where were we?”

“You cannot defeat us all, Heavenspawn,” the spear-wielding demon mocked.

“Actually, I could,” Pesmarek replied as he looked down at his armor then stepped forward to fight them. “But why should I have all the fun?”

A golden light flashed behind Pesmarek as eighty-seven warrior angels rushed through the front of the bank - and Father Tolson. Their assorted melee weapons were drawn and gleaming. Each of them bore the same silvery halos and dressed like Pesmarek. They formed up behind their fellow angel and turned solid. Tolson laughed at the Dentraag as the other angels retracted their wings in unison and slipped into fighting postures.

The outnumbered, once-cocky Dentraag fearfully began to back away. Pesmarek gave his fellow angels an appreciative nod.

“Slay them all,” he sternly commanded. “Their hell portal’s on the other side of the vault door. We’ve got to recover every righteous soul they’ve enslaved.”

With that, the angels rushed forward.

The demons stood their ground and fought for their unholy lives. Tolson watched Pesmarek’s backup team slay twenty Dentraag without a single casualty. The surviving seven opted to flee through the vault. Three of them were cut down before they could reach the portal. The remaining four made it into the vault and tried to close it behind them. But Pesmarek and three other angels pulled it open while the others poured through with divine rage.

Tolson couldn’t tell if the remaining Dentraag made it home or not. Vicious sounds of battle and Dentraag screams echoed out into the bank. Something told Tolson that Heaven’s Finest were kicking butt and saving souls.

“That was it?!” Tolson asked with disappointment as the slain Dentraag began to melt away, like black smoke. “It was that easy?!”

“Sorry,” Pesmarek grinned as he waved his fellow angels through the portal. “I didn’t think they’d die so fast either. Drive safely, Father.”

“Who are you?” Tolson asked.

“Call me Pesmarek,” the angel replied.

The three angels rushed into the vault. Pesmarek started to follow them in. As the last traces of the Dentraag corpses faded away, an unpleasant thought crossed the Jesuit’s mind and made him wince.

“What about the demons on this world?” Tolson asked worriedly. “The ones walking around, in other people’s bodies? Lord only knows what they’re up to out there.”

Pesmarek grimly paused, turned, and regarded the dead host bodies for a moment.

“Their time will come,” he vowed. “For now, the innocent souls are top priority. If we don’t save them in time, they’ll be too corrupted to enter Heaven.”

The angel flicked Dentraag blood from his blade and continued toward the vault.

“Thank you,” Tolson said, “for answering my prayer and saving my soul.”

Pesmarek stopped just shy of the vault door.

“Don’t thank me,” the angel replied as he pointed the tip of his sword upward. “Thank Him.”

With that, Pesmarek entered the vault and willed its door shut.